Moonglow

by Kristen Callihan

  His feelings, his hurt had no longer mattered. Ian dragged a breath through his clenched teeth. And another. The wolf inside him whined, circling and cowing. A plea. Aye, he knew better than anyone how stupid it was to want Daisy. Yet everything in him screamed in protest at the thought of giving her up.

  Una’s words continued to taunt him, pricking at his conscience. It was a mistake, Ian.

  Dizzy, he placed a hand on the balustrade and felt his claws sink in deep. A black hole of despair opened up before him, threatening to suck him down. He knew with crystal clarity what his life would be like without Daisy in it, because he had lived it for the past eighty years. He might as well fall into that hole now and end it if that was the way of things.

  Archer’s voice cut through his nightmare. “While I was fool enough to act without fully understanding the consequences. You do understand. You’ve lived it, man. Don’t go back there. Don’t be a fool.”

  Ian whirled around. “I’ll not have judgment from you!”

  “Why? When you’ve judged me for years.” He took a step into Ian’s space and pointed a finger at him. Ian’s wolf growled, itching to release its claws and fangs, but Archer did not back down. “It was never about you, Ian. I never wanted to hurt you.”

  “You knew how I felt about immortality. You knew the damage it had done to me and still you sought it.” Ian slashed at the granite balustrade beside him, his claws slicing through the stone with a satisfying scrape. He’d let Archer in, revealing the pain he hadn’t the courage to show another soul. “You threw my suffering in my face.”

  Even in the dark, Ian could see the dull red wash over Archer’s cheekbones. “I never meant it to be like that. And you know it.”

  “Did you not? And what of introducing my father to that mad fiend?”

  Archer had brought Ian’s father into West Moon Club, a secret society of fellow noblemen obsessed with immortality. They soon got their wish when Victoria, a female demon claiming to be an angel of light, found them. She had promised them immortality if they drank an elixir, not realizing that in so doing, they would become like her, destined to crave the light of human souls. A mindless monster.

  Ian’s claws punctured his own palms. The bite of pain spurred him on. “You knew my father was unhinged when it came to his quest for power and still you lured him with promises of untold strength.”

  Not being satisfied with the immortality granted to all lycan, Ian’s father, Alasdair, had wanted more. More power, the impenetrable strength of a god. When he realized what Victoria truly was, he had wanted to leave. Victoria tried to burn Alasdair alive and succeeded in scarring him for life. And while Ian couldn’t truly blame Archer for Alasdair’s faults, he could blame the man for preying on them. “The worst of it is, that when I tried to warn you off, you told me to take a piss.”

  “And what of you?” Archer snapped. “When I turned to you for help after I’d changed, who told me to take a piss then? Christ, you tried to steal my wife out from under me!”

  Ian’s outrage deflated under that inescapable truth. He suddenly felt all of his one hundred and thirty years. His mouth quirked as he looked at his oldest friend. “Fine. We’re both jackasses. You want to have a go and beat the shite out of each other, or call pax?”

  Archer’s hard expression eased. “You’re only saying that because you can finally beat me.”

  “ ‘Finally.’ ” Ian snorted. “I could have beaten you before if you hadn’t ambushed me when I was piss drunk.”

  Archer grinned. “That’s your excuse, is it?”

  “Prat.”

  They were silent for a moment before Archer glanced at him. “Does she make the risk worth it?”

  Despite the years they’d been at odds, they still understood each other perfectly. Ian didn’t hesitate to answer.

  “It isn’t a matter of choice, Benjamin.”

  The other man sighed. “It never is.”

  Chapter Thirty-one

  He won’t look at me.” Poppy’s words held the strength of smoke. Her lips trembled, and she pressed them together so tightly they went white.

  Daisy cast a glance at Miranda, whose eyes creased with the same concern that Daisy felt. They had never seen their sister weak. She was their mountain: solid, unmovable. Now she sat listless in a chair by the hearth in Miranda’s sitting room.

  Winston slept in a room down the hall, watched over, for the moment, by Tuttle, who’d come from Northrup’s house to serve as nurse. The woman fussed about, checking for fever and administering various concoctions, along with a liberal application of her ointment in an attempt to stave off infection.

  Poppy picked at the loose folds of the dressing gown Miranda had lent her. “He turns away when I draw near.”

  Daisy’s head throbbed. She wanted to lie down and sleep for a week, or find Ian and… She bit her lip. Between her legs, her flesh was still slick and sensitive with longing. Her cheeks burned with the memory of what Ian had done to her, and the base part of her craved more. But her sister needed her. Daisy’s skirts rustled as she stood and went to Poppy’s side. Resting a hand on Poppy’s bright hair, she smoothed the glossy crown of her head. “Why, Pop?”

  Both sisters knew Poppy well enough to know Poppy already had the answer.

  Poppy turned her head to face the fire. Orange light danced over Poppy’s high cheekbones, turning the red tips of her lashes bronze. “He knows.”

  Daisy’s hand stilled. “About us? How?”

  Slowly, Poppy’s clenched fist opened and a little silver charm shone in the firelight. Daisy heard Miranda rise, but she kept her eyes upon the charm and leaned down to see.

  Miranda’s voice, soft with worry, drifted over the silence. “What does it mean, Poppy?”

  Poppy’s slender throat worked as she swallowed. “The SOS.”

  Daisy sighed and touched her sister’s cheek, surprised to find it cold despite the heat of the fire. “Dearest, you aren’t making sense.” Which was unthinkable.

  Pain and resignation clouded the depths of Poppy’s eyes. “The Society for the Suppression of Supernaturals, the S.O.S. They exist so that the world never learns of beings like us.

  “This,” Poppy lifted the charm, “is their emblem. Winston had it in his hand when they brought him in.”

  Miranda’s eyes narrowed. “They did this to him?”

  Heaven help these people if they did. Need and strength shifted within Daisy’s belly, writhing as if to break free. She saw the answering promise in the glint of Miranda’s eyes. For the first time in memory, Daisy felt useful, capable of serving justice to those who wronged the innocent. And it felt like freedom.

  Poppy’s tone was resolute as she answered. “No. They saved him.”

  “How can you be sure?” Daisy asked.

  “Because I am one of them.”

  “Oh, Poppy.” Daisy’s overskirts billowed around her knees as she sank to the footstool at Poppy’s side.

  Poppy’s fist tightened around the charm. “I lied to him. Like all the others. I pretended to be something I am not. And now I am paying the price.” A single tear trickled down her white cheek. “I made a lie of love.”

  Out of respect, Daisy turned from her sister’s pain, yet her words made a fist around Daisy’s heart and clanged like warning bells within her ears. She too was a liar. And it made her inexpressibly tired. She was tired of pretending that she didn’t want everything with Ian, tired of resisting her baser nature. Suddenly, waiting felt like a cloak smothering her breath. Gathering her skirts, she rose.

  “I’m sorry, dearest. I must go.”

  “What?” Miranda sat up straighter in her seat. “Why? Where?”

  Suspicion darkened Miranda’s eyes, and she obviously thought of the scene she’d come upon, of Daisy’s dishevelment and Ian unrepentantly buttoning his trousers. Daisy refused to blush now or turn away. Her sister had no right to judge. But she saw no such judgment from Poppy, who looked at Daisy with understanding and yet such sor
row that Daisy’s chest ached.

  “She is going to live in truth,” Poppy answered for her.

  Old doubts made her insides roll, but when Daisy spoke her voice was clear. “Yes.”

  Ian prowled his room, walking the length of it in an endless loop, just as he had done since returning home alone. His pulse jumped, his fingers twitching with the temptation to reach out and grab her. Only she wasn’t here. He yanked at his cravat, desperate to get the blasted thing off before it choked him. He ought to go out and run, get the need out of his system. But he didn’t want to run. He wanted her. He wanted to finish what they had started.

  The cravat ripped free, and he sucked in a breath. Damn, but he couldn’t do those things. Not tonight. Her sister needed her. It was as it should be. She wouldn’t come to him tonight. Perhaps she wouldn’t come to him at all. Fine, he liked the chase. Always had. Only, for some damned reason, he wanted to be chased in return, just once.

  His gait turned stiff and disjointed as he stalked to the sideboard in search of a drink. He needed something to ease this burning.

  His cock was an iron staff in his trousers, his balls drawn up so tight they ached. He’d been inside of her. For one perfect, heart-stopping moment, he’d been clasped by her slick, warm… The crystal decanter in his hand clattered against his glass with too much force, cracking its side.

  A hollow laugh burst from his mouth. “Bloody hell,” he muttered before rubbing a tired hand over his face. Utterly undone by a woman, he was.

  Ian blinked down at his unshod feet, not able to do anything else. A small hole was growing in his stocking, and his big toe worked to break through. He stared at the undignified sight. The sound of his own heart beating filled his ears, and then something else, the clatter of hooves and the creaking of a coach pulling to a stop. His heart clenched painfully. The dainty patter of feet alighted the front stair, followed by a rap of the knocker.

  He closed his eyes and inhaled sharply and deeply. Vanilla, jasmine, sunshine, and her. His breath released in a burst of shock and hope. Bloody anxious hope that had his insides quivering and his fists clenching.

  In the front hall, a feminine voice murmured before a light tread sounded on the center staircase, heading toward his room. Ian couldn’t move. His muscles locked, his breath coming hard like a steamer. Each step she took sent a quiver along his hot, tight skin.

  By the time the handle turned, he was shaking. The door creaked open.

  She stood, framed by the light in the hall, golden wisps of her hair curling about her head like a halo and her summer eyes alive with equal parts hesitation and want. They stared at each other in the charged silence, and a flush spread over the tops of her plump breasts. His mouth was as dry as toast, his heart slamming to get past his ribs. She was so bloody beautiful.

  On a breath, he was striding forward, each step hard and strong. She met him halfway, her slim arms going up and around his neck even as his hands tunneled into her hair to hold her still as he captured her mouth on a low groan. He devoured her, reveling in the feel of her pillowed bottom lip and the taste of her, like sweet strawberries and dark chocolate.

  Ian groaned again and opened her mouth farther, desperate to have all of her. They stumbled back, her nimble hands pulling at his shirt as he ripped at her lacings. A small laugh escaped her and she caught his gaze with hers. He found himself smiling back, inanely, like a green lad getting his first taste of sin. The soft promise in her eyes settled him a bit, eased him in a way he didn’t understand. Gently, he touched her cheek, the skin there as smooth as fine satin. When he kissed her again, he took his time and savored her. He touched her with deliberation now, drawing out her pleasure, and his.

  “You came,” he whispered as his hands roamed over her. “I didn’t think… your sister.”

  “I couldn’t stay there,” she said just as softly. “I needed…” Her blue eyes looked up at him helplessly.

  He understood. She needed a release, to not think about the horrors around her. And yet it pinched a small part of him that it was all she needed. Selfish or not, he wanted her to need him. The way he needed her.

  He said none of that, only gave her a soft kiss and nibbled his way down her warm, fragrant neck. “I’ll give you what you need, my Daisy,” he said against her skin. “I’ll take care of you.”

  Daisy sighed and molded against him, her hands coming up to tug him back to her mouth. One small gesture and his heart nearly burst within his chest. Lust ratcheted within him. It fed hers, and their hands grew unsteady once more. Silken hair tumbled over his fingers and spilled around her shoulders.

  He broke their kiss to allow her to wrench his shirt off. The shirt sailed overhead. Her bodice hit the floor with a slap as he walked her backward toward the bed, still kissing her. He couldn’t leave her mouth. It was too delicious, quenching his thirst yet driving his hunger. She was quicker than he, helping him out of his clothes and getting herself free of that hideous contraption of a bustle when his shaking hands proved useless.

  It was she who pulled him onto the bed with a sound of impatience. Her skin was satin against his, her body trembling and her breathing as rough and unsteady as his own, as if they’d just finished instead of having just begun. He breathed her in and let his hand slide down all that soft, smooth skin to cup between her legs. Gods, but she was wet. He felt the fine tension humming beneath all that softness.

  “Are you afraid?” he asked between kisses he could not stop from taking.

  He stroked through her wetness with a light touch, easing her legs open. Her eyelids fluttered before she focused on him. “Not with you.” She looked almost surprised by this, but her gaze did not waver. “I’m not afraid of you.”

  Pride and lust and relief surged through him, setting his body aflame. She had seen him at his worst and still wasn’t afraid of him. He kissed with little technique and all heat, his finger sliding in deep to lay claim, and she moaned. Ian pulled back, and she wrapped her arms about him as if she feared he would go. Not a bloody chance of that. But he had to look at her and drink his fill before he took her. When he did, pain returned to his chest and his gut. Mother of God. She was made for sin, made to be adored. She was an hourglass, sweet curves that turned a man weak-kneed and panting. Full breasts, tiny waist, and a gorgeously rounded ass that made him whimper.

  “Daisy-Meg,” he managed. “You light the moon looking as you do.”

  A smile spread across her face. She traced a path around his nipple, and a bolt of heat went straight to his cock. “And you put the sun to bed, wild man.”

  Wild man. He was, at that moment, kissing her like he was starved. Her legs threaded with his, her full breasts crushed against his chest as he moved over her. All that warmth and softness finally his. He nibbled on her bottom lip as he filled his hands with the plump miracle of her arse. She made a little noise that had him grinning like a fiend. He squeezed again and ground his thigh against the wet heat that called to him.

  Sweet Christ, she was intoxicating. Finesse was impossible with her. Not this time. Not when he was so hot and wanting that he shook with it. Sweat trickled down his back as he slid his cock over her wetness to tease them both. Once. Twice. His arms trembled as they bracketed her, and his tongue plunged into her mouth the way his cock wanted to plunder her warm quim.

  “Ian,” she pled against his lips. “Now.”

  He gritted his teeth when she nipped his lower lip impatiently. “Wait. Let me give you more.” He’d do right by her if it killed him.

  Her legs spread wider, a call home. “Now.” Sly devil that she was, she arched her hips a fraction, and suddenly he was in, tunneling into tight, wet heat. And he lost his mind.

  A vicious oath tore from him as he pumped her, hard, harder than he ought to. He couldn’t stop. She was warmth, all soft and malleable flesh. Her hot, clenching sex fisted his cock. So very good. His knees dug into the mattress as he struggled to gain leverage, to get in deeper. Grunting, he hooked one smooth leg ove
r his elbow, and she moaned.

  “Oh, God, Ian.” Her breath came in pants, her creamy skin dewy and flushed. “Like that. Like that.”

  He kissed her fiercely as he pistoned hard and deep inside her. His free hand kneaded her round bottom and held her prone. Some dark part of him urged his fingers lower, down along the seam of her pert arse, to find the tight little rosette just below her wet sex. Her eyes went wide as he stroked it with his thumb. He stroked it again, adding just a bit of pressure as he did. Delicately, she bit her lip, and then the shock was his as she nudged herself against his thumb.

  The beast within him roared. He slammed into her as his thumb pressed harder. And when it breached that tight barrier, she came apart in his arms.

  “Ian!” A keening wail broke from her mouth, as her nails dug into his shoulders. She held herself taut against him, burrowing her face against his neck, sucking his skin there, as her sex milked his, drawing him deeper still. Lightning heat flashed down his spine and into his cock. He bucked on a shout, the orgasm hitting him so hard he lost his sight for one blissful, red moment.

  Weak as a pup, he fell limp against her, his breath ruffling her curls. “Daisy,” he said hoarsely. Every inch of him felt battered. It hit him with a jolt that not once had he thought of failing her. It hadn’t even occurred to him that he would. Satisfaction and peace made his heart light as he closed his eyes and gathered her in his arms and turned onto his side. “Daisy,” he said again. It was all he could say. And in that moment, it was everything.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  They lay in a languid tangle of limbs, so intertwined that she wasn’t sure where she ended and he began. One of his strong arms snaked under her neck and around her shoulders to hold her close, as if she might try to get away. Their breath moved in a gentle panting cadence that spoke of physical exhaustion, their lips brushing together with each inhale.